


Once Upon A Time (we fell in love)

by chewingonpearls (Reallife), cuartist, Reallife



Category: Leverage
Genre: Adoption, College AU, F/M, Fluffy, Found Family, Hardison is a great dad, M/M, Mutual Pining, Princess Bride AU, That's happening folks, author has more headcanons for this verse than she had time for
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-02
Updated: 2017-12-02
Packaged: 2019-02-09 09:05:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12884586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reallife/pseuds/chewingonpearls, https://archiveofourown.org/users/cuartist/pseuds/cuartist, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reallife/pseuds/Reallife
Summary: That was the day Hardison and Parker realized, when Eliot was threatening to punch people for them what he was really saying was"I love you."





	Once Upon A Time (we fell in love)

**Author's Note:**

> Part of the Leverage Big Bang 2017! Thank the mods who organized it and the following people for beta-ing, brainstorming, and just for being patient with me;
> 
> [ kriszeth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kriszeth/pseuds/kriszeth)  
> [BabylonsFall](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BabylonsFall)  
> [freckledheart](http://freckled-heart.tumblr.com/)  
> I feel like I am forgetting someone that helped me, ping me and lmk because I am so tired and very apologetic if I botched this. Which. I probably did.  
> The artwork was done by the amazing  
> [cuartist](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cuartist/pseuds/cuartist) who also helped beta so. Super talented!

Hardison peered skeptically into the pot of kimchi soup on the stove. The smell alone was making his eyes water, but it was doctor approved—and more importantly, it was Elliot approved. Plus, Quita loved spicy foods.

“Naw man, the doctor just said she got a bad flu, don’t worry.” In his ears he heard a sigh of relief from his husband, and a scoff from his wife.

It was hard not to grin at them as he poured two glasses of water from the brita filter. Normally he got a soda, but since his daughter couldn’t have one, then he wouldn’t either. At least not in front of her.

“I knew that. You guys were worried for nothing.”

“She had a fever of 106, Parker!” Eliot growled, more from built up stress about Quita’s health than at Parker herself, but they weren’t going to call him out on it.

Especially when it had been Parker who initially caught that there was something worse than their little girl just not wanting to play.

“Yeah, but she’s a tough cookie.” Parker said, as if she was trying to reassure her husbands and _definitely_ not herself.

A too small sounding voice, exhausted both from being sick and being poked and prodded at the doctor, suddenly pulled his attention away. “Dad, is that kimchi soup?” 

“I gotta go guys, I’ll keep you updated.”

They both hung up after telling him they loved him, and even after so many years hearing that, it still made his heart do somersaults. 

Quita was leaning against the entrance to the hallway in her fuzzy solar system pajamas, looking tentatively hopeful. He waved at her with a smile and a quick, _one moment_ gesture.

“Yeah baby– I’ll bring you some in a minute, don’t worry.”

Her face lit up and the smile filled him with more warmth than any soup. “Do you need any help?” 

How this kid managed to spend seven years with Parker and Hardison and still be polite and helpful was nothing short of the grace of God—or by Elliot at least.

“No, I got this, you go get back under the covers.” 

The beads at the end of her hair clattered gently when she nodded and turned back towards her room.

Twenty minutes later found Hardison settling into the recliner in her bedroom, his bowl of minestrone soup on his lap and a glass of water on the table next to him. Quita was under the blankets, back against the oak headboard Eliot had made the year they adopted her, a lap tray with the fold out legs on the bed with her so she could eat her soup safely.

If she didn’t feel so awful, she would have relished in having food in bed on a school day, but instead her voice was raspy and her smiles didn’t come as quick as they usually did, and that dampened it all a bit. Her hands clasped around the bowl to savor the heat of it, something she did with nearly every meal even when she wasn’t sick.

When Quita first visited their house she wore a jacket that she refused to take off, and looked at the fleece throw on the couch with an odd amount of glee. It was only later that they found out about her iron deficiency, something her birth mother didn’t have the knowledge or resources to compensate for. So Quita was always cold. It was better now, with them keeping an eye on her diet and doctor’s consultation, but it wasn’t something she ever forgot.

There were a lot of things she never forgot, though her eyes stopped darting to her parents as if to reassure herself they were still there. She perked up having Hardison nearby now, as weak as she felt, though she was normally fine being alone in her room for hours on end working on puzzles or reading.

“Can you tell me a story while I eat?” 

Hardison paused with his spoon raised halfway to his mouth. He knew how _this_ always ended. He would be here for hours, Quita was the special kind of precocious that found plot holes in stories.

Quita continued to stare at him hopefully, even when he took his bite and his eyes narrowed pointedly at her own food. “What story do you want? You only get a story if you actually eat, and drink your water!” 

The girl had mostly avoided his soda addiction, but only by the skin of her teeth. And because Hardison had picked up water-drinking to give a good example, admittedly though he still preferred soda.

Like any right minded ten year old, stories and food were two of her favorite things, so she dug with eagerness into the latter to get the former. Of course, she couldn’t have just one spoonful of Elliot’s soup—because it was always the best—but she finally turned back to her dad after a few bites. “Tell me the story of you, mom, and pops.”

Hardison waited, eyeballing her until she gave in and took a pointed drink of water. He sighed, giving in like they both knew he would. He took a sip of his own water before replying, “You know how we met. Your mom worked at the campus coffee shop, and I was so busy daydreaming about her that your pops had to save me from slicing my own arm off in shop class.” 

In retrospect, it sort of set precedent for their lives together.

Quita sighed grievously with the sort of drama that only a teenager could manage. She always had to be ahead of the curve. “Nooo, how did you fall in looove?”

A grin, undoubtedly a goofy one at thinking of his partners and what they shared,. “I don’t know if I have a simple story for that, hun.” 

Falling in love, in Hardison’s admittedly limited experience, was rarely simple, easy to explain or linear.

(It was actually a lot like the Star Wars extended universe in that way, but that wasn’t a comparison to get into when he was on nursing duty.)

“Well, that’s fine, because I’m not simple so you don’t gotta make it simple for me.” One day this child was going to break something with that hard head of hers.

Alright, he could do this while keeping it sweet and mostly honest.

Definitely.

He took a sip of water and raised an eyebrow at her soup again. The tiny light of their lives grinned cheekily as she took a slow slurp of soup. Hardison had never seen anyone eat food like a smartass, but he was _pretty_ sure that was how it was done. “Alright, but it’s not very exciting.”

“Pfft. C’mon, once upon a time…” 

Well, how could he resist a classic introduction like that?

“Once upon a time, I was very tired…” 

Quita looked like she was about to say something smart, but instead took another bite of soup and watched him eagerly.

[](https://www.flickr.com/photos/157843907@N08/37887639295/in/dateposted-public/)  
—-

Hardison had been awake for a very long time. The problem with working on a project that he actually enjoyed, as opposed to stupid long essays on symbolism in _Antigone_ , was that time kind of...got lost. So he had spent his whole night designing and then actualizing the first steps of building a better mousetrap.

Rather than a literal mousetrap, in this instance the mousetrap was something that wasn’t even released yet; it had been featured in a tech magazine one of his professors brought into class. It was a small camera and speaker that could be attached to any pair of glasses. The wearer pointed at a block of text, the camera took a picture, and then spoke out loud the text. Apparently it was meant to help the visually impaired on everyday tasks to retain their independence, such as grocery shopping and reading medication bottles.

But the person who wrote the article mentioned that the system could only handle certain fonts, and only certain surfaces, and _didn’t_ mention other issues with it. Like how it spoke _out loud_ instead of through something discrete, like headphones, and how they assumed anyone doing their own grocery shopping could afford to casually drop two grand on these things.

Nana had been telling him that he had to work on his mouth writing checks his behind couldn’t cash, and sure enough–his professor had heard his boasting that he could do better and lit up like a Christmas tree. He saw it as a chance to put a cocky sophomore down a peg or two, and Hardison saw it as a challenge.

So by the time five AM rolled around, Hardison decided he’d made a good enough headway to go to bed, but then he remembered that stupid essay about some old stupid play.

\---

”Aunt Sophie says that learning about the arts and the stories around them enriches our understanding of the people that wrote them and our civilizations today,” his daugher parroted at him.

Hardison rolled his eyes. “We can’t even get you to memorize your times tables, how did she get you to remember that?”

She shrugged and took another bite of soup.

\---

“Help me espresso machine, you’re my only hope,” he whined at the machine on the other side of the counter, because on this day, like many other days, it was his Obi-Wan.

Or maybe his R2-D2, and the espresso was Obi-Wan?

Man, was he tired.

“Hey buddy, buy something or stop taking up space in my line.”

The woman who snapped at him from behind the register wasn’t one he had seen before at _The Dragon Bean_. She was very pretty, even with an annoyed expression on her face. In her defense, a lot of people of any gender wore that expression around him–he tried not to hold it against them.

 _Be calm,_ he thought to himself, _be memorable but not weird._

Except he was really tired, and, uh, himself. “Do you think in this situation you are my R2-D2 or my Obi-Wan?”

The girl, whose name tag read _Alice_ in such tiny print it was almost impossible to read, just sighed. “I have not seen Star Wars. Yes, I know what it’s about, but I don’t wanna watch it with you. Do you want any coffee?”

Hardison wondered how many May 4th jokes she heard or how many discussions she refused to join before getting that attitude towards the beloved franchise. This university was the biggest in the state, and had an abundance of awkward, jobless nerds who were bored with their classwork.

Bored nerds blurted out awkward things to pretty people. Well. There were probably a few steps between those two points, but still–  
“Ow! What the hell?” The girl was quick, yanking away the shiny fork from his shoulder that he caught out of his peripheral vision.

“I thought maybe you were in a coma,” she said casually, like that was a perfectly normal everyday thing.

“Why would you poke a coma patient with a fork? Do you even know how comas work?” 

Alice just shrugged, looking inexplicably pleased with herself, before gesturing wildly towards the menu with sweeping arm motions.

Oh. Yeah, that was probably a good idea. “Can I get a caramel frap with two shots of espresso?”

Alice grabbed a plastic cup without asking him the size, and a sharpie. “Name?”

“Hardison.”

She started to write, but then paused and narrowed her very distracting eyes at him. “That doesn’t sound like a real name. Are you playing a joke on me, like Candid Camera?”

His name was still halfway written on the cup but she had stopped writing, focused instead in looking around the coffee shop suspiciously, as if expecting one of the other bedraggled students to break out a camera rig.

“No, man. It’s my last name–how have you seen Candid Camera but not Star Wars?” Hardison could honestly say that he hadn’t heard a Candid Camera reference from anyone younger than his Nana.

Alice turned and handed the cup to another barista with his name still written as _Hardi_. “I like Buster Keaton.”

What? “What?”

“Your overpriced sugar coffee is going to be 7.67.” 

Man, he was way too tired to process this, so he just handed over his student ID dumbly.

“I like these too, I only like coffee if it tastes like dessert.” She slid the drink across the counter to him with a sudden beaming smile.

It was such a stark change to her bored expression, it took Hardison a moment to formulate a reply—her smile all he could focus on. Except then a wave of 6AM students began coming in for their fix before class and he got hustled out. He blamed his exhaustion on his inability to come up with any sort of response. That was definitely it.  
——  
“Did mom ever tell you why she likes Buster Keaton?” Quita’s soup was nearly halfway gone, along with her water, and it seemed to be helping a bit.

He shook his hand in an _ish_ gesture, because—without going into detail with his daughter—that’s how Parker explained a lot of things with her past.

That, and he was using the breather to consume some soup finally. “She had these foster parents who were old, more like foster grandparents. The grandpa saw her take a dramatic tumble or five and said she had real talent, like Buster Keaton, and got her to watch his movies.” She swirled her soup around aimlessly for a moment. “Said he was the first one to compliment her and be nice.”

There was probably some parental spin he could put on his, about the lasting impact of kindness and little things making a huge difference. But all he could imagine was Parker, the same age as their daughter, with no one to tell her how talented she was and how proud of her they were. 

He cleared his throat as if trying to shake away the sudden somber emotions that were clogging it, picturing his daughter like Parker was growing up. Sad and alone, with no one to hug her when she woke up with nightmares.

Maybe the happy story wasn’t the worst idea after all.  
—

When Hardison told Nana that he was taking the college equivalent of shop class, she was politely skeptical. In this situation ‘skeptical’ meant she laughed at him, while ‘polite’ meant that she didn’t tell any of his ‘siblings’ so they could laugh at him with her.

It wasn’t that audacious actually. He used to help his Nana with stuff around the house, and he was good at working with his hands and thinking on his feet. So if she needed a table built or repaired, or the sink was leaking and it wasn’t working like the instructions said it should, he was pretty good at improvising.

Just because he wasn’t eager to work out in the garden in the middle of the summer didn’t mean he was averse to working with his hands.

Plus, it was pretty simple for the most part. And it gave him time to think about more complex things that kept him awake better than caffeine. Like Alice. She didn’t seem friendly, but then she was. And what was that about being a fan of _Buster Keaton_ , but not Star Wars? Definitely weird. But weird was awesome to him, and she liked coffee the same way he did.

Maybe he could invite her to help him build a better mousetrap? He wasn’t the best judge of what was normal when inviting someone to ‘hang out’ for the first time. Not a date! But she had a beautiful smile and beautiful eyes, maybe she liked challenges the same as—

“Hey man, pay attention!”

Hardison blinked, coming out of the daze his wandering thoughts had meandered into. Someone had jerked his arm away from the table saw at his station—that he didn’t remember turning on—and still had a strong grip on it.

“You were off in la la land and almost put your hand on a powered saw blade, what the hell?” The stranger released his arm and Hardison couldn’t stop his eyes from travelling up the man’s very nice—mostly bare—arms, because _holy shit_.

A dirty hand waved in front of him. “Hey! Can you focus for more than thirty seconds?” But the redness creeping into his cheeks told Hardison that the guy _had_ noticed where his attention was instead..

If Hardison hadn’t been up for...thirty hours at this point, and had eaten something more nutritious than a hot pocket, he would have definitely been clever enough to turn that into a smooth line.

“Sorry, it’s just, uh, muscles.” 

(He lied. If he had been alert, his mouth would just run away from him worse, making him look like even more of an idiot.)

 _Shit._ The man’s eyes widened and his blush increased. “I mean. Shit. You have muscles. I wasn’t thinking about them. I would have, but I hadn’t—there was this girl! With pretty eyes. And I was wondering if she’d help me build a better mousetrap for blind people.” There went his mouth again, too much information a mile a minute. “Actually, her eyes are a lot like yours—”

“Are you high?” The man stepped closer to him, head tilted and eyes narrowed into Hardison’s own, like he was a cop looking at a suspect.

The fact that Hardison had a few inches on the guy didn’t make him less intimidating. Not only was he good looking, but he could also probably bench press Hardison.

Maybe the word for that wasn’t _intimidating_ , per se.

“Whatever, just be careful.” He reached around Hardison to switch off the saw, smelling like sweat and a cooking spice Hardison couldn’t pin point.

A vague plan to skip the rest of class and go back to his dorm to pass out was forming in his head as he watched the other guy. “Yeah, thanks for the rescue.” It was supposed to sound casual but it came out strained and weary instead, but the man didn’t remark on it as he headed back to his own station.

By the time Hardison had finished cleaning up his table and got his shit together, his rescuer had ninja-ed his way back over, damn quiet for a man with that much...hair. Yeah. Hair. His own bag was slung haphazardly over his shoulder, and behind him Hardison could see that his table looked a lot more neat and organized than his own.

“So this mousetrap thing, is that some kind of euphemism? Or pickup line?” It was hard to decipher his tone, more relaxed now that no one was in danger of being maimed. Curious, and maybe a little defensive, which didn’t make any sense.

Hardison picked up the jewelry box he was making for Nana so he could stow it carefully in his bag. “Naw man, I’m really redesigning a better version of an audible text reader for the visually impaired. Kind-of for class, but mostly to say fuck you to my professor.” 

The man smirked at him. Hardison had the odd feeling it was one of approval and interest.

“C’mon, do you live with your parents or in a dorm?” He zipped up Hardison’s duffel bag and sort of shoved it at his chest. “Let’s go.”

Was there a conversation he missed? Was Hardison so tired he had been part of an entire conversation that was now a blur in his mind? And how was that possible, seeing as he could draw a blueprint of the Federation _Defiant_ when newly woken out of a dead sleep?

It didn’t stop him from following the guy towards the exit of the shop building and out into the sunshine. “Wait, what’s going on? I don’t even know your name, why am I still following you?”

The door banged shut behind them and Hardison stopped walking obstinately, crossing his arms over his chest with a defiant expression on his face. “My name is Hardison, you could at least tell me your name if you’re going to kidnap me.”

His response was an aggrieved sigh as the guy turned around, rubbing his face with both hands in clear frustration. “I know who you are, you have been in the same class with me for a month. Are you always this oblivious?” 

An offended scowl twisted Hardison’s features, shoulders set with righteous indignation at the insult, even though it was partially true. He knew the other students in his Major classes because he already partially considered them rivals, measuring sticks to prove himself against. Shop class, along with his other electives, didn’t quite ignite that same fire.

“What’s your name and why do you want to know where I live?” Hardison eyeballed the other guy even though he knew that he was all talk, but he had never been able to contain his smart mouth. “If you’re a serial killer, you really need a more refined technique.”

The guy for real _growled_ and seemed to storm back up to him. Hardison wasn’t sure if he wanted to lean into his gravity or leap to safety. “Elliot. And you don’t look good enough to walk home without hurting yourself, but I’m startin’ to think you need a good hit to the head.”

“Hey!” He squawked, “I’m cool! I’m not drunk or anything, do you always go around insulting people?”

 _Elliot_ —which was better than just calling him gruff hot mystery guy in his head—made a few vague halted gestures, like he wanted to smack Hardison but held back. His cheeks were flushed with aggravation, and bits of his hair had fallen out of his ponytail. When he finally reached out and pushed on Hardison’s shoulder with hardly any _oomf_ , it still made him lose his balance.

“You are literally swaying. Final offer.”

The world spun for a beat or three, until Elliot reached out to steady him with a strong grip on his upper arm again. “Cool, cool, I stay with my Nana, she’s about half an hour away.”

“Finally.” Elliot growled out again, reaching up to yank the hair tie out of his hair before he started to pull Hardison off towards one of the many mini parking lots on campus . Somehow, in the back of his increasingly fuzzy head, Hardison heard the echoes of the Stranger Danger song he had been forced to learn in kindergarten. But it was hard to pay attention to it when his exhaustion was quite possibly making him disassociate. Just a tad.

—--

”So he saved you twice!” Quita looked gleeful just before she got hit with a coughing fit, the kind that made Hardison set down his empty bowl hastily so he could rescue hers, still balanced carefully on the table. Sitting beside her on the bed, worry etched his features even though the doctor had assured them it wasn’t strep or anything worse, just the flu.

But seeing his daughter struggling to breathe, face red and chest heaving, while not being able to do anything other than rub her back and be ready with a glass of water, made his own chest hurt. The shaking subsided, but her breathing still sounded raspy and labored, and he held the glass of water out to her patiently.

She rubbed her eyes with her fuzzy fleece sleeves as she accepted the glass. “Thanks,” came the quiet mumble from where she leant against him now, eyes drooping even as she sipped from the glass.

“That’s what I’m here for baby girl.” He kissed the top of her head, glancing at the clock and doing an internal count of how long it had been since she last took her medicine.

Beside him Quita finished her water and handed it back to him. “Did you know more people die from driving tired than driving drunk in the US alone?”

Hardison blinked. “Who told you that?”

She laughed at the obvious confusion on his face, though it was more restrained than usual with her throat being what it was. “Uncle Nate says it’s better to know a little about a lot than a lot about a little.”

How this little factoid was going to be useful to his ten year old, he wasn’t sure, but he still agreed with the sentiment. He mostly loved that she loved learning.

Ugh. He sounded like Nana.

“I’ll go put our dishes up and get you some more water, then it’s sleep for you!” 

She gave him a too familiar pout, but still laid back down properly, pulling her _Starry Night_ down comforter up to her chin. Sophie spoiled her niece with art and history themed gifts. Really, everyone did.

No wonder she was such a brat.

None of the parenting books he definitely didn’t read had told Hardison that dish balancing would end up being just as necessary a skill as first aid when it came to having kids, but he would definitely rank it up there. Quita’s door was left cracked open—a habit from when her nightmares were worse when she was younger that they still hadn’t quite let go of—and he called Elliot as he walked back to the kitchen.

“How is the goblin?”

Hardison grinned to himself as he set their bowls in the sink. “Why, hello Elliot, it’s so nice to hear your voice too, what a nice thing for you to say.”

Elliot got that growling tone to his voice that still delighted both his spouses in more ways than could be said aloud with little ears not far away. “ _Hardison_ ”

The packaging for Quita’s blister pack crinkled in his hand as Hardison tried to read the fine print on the stupid thing. Hardison was the only one of the adults who took his own medicine when needed, so he was usually put in charge of the kid’s when she needed it as well.

It didn’t mean he found the damn things any less frustrating, however. “She’s doing better already. And loved the soup. About to go give her another dose of meds before she naps.”

“Good. We need to talk to her about actually telling us when she’s sick, instead of trying to tough it out.” 

Hardison nearly dropped the medicine, mouth falling open in aghast at Elliot’s response. It was too bad his husband wasn’t here, because Hardison had an awesome _Stop trying to bullshit me_ expression. It was very distinctive. It was hard to tell who was worse at trying to ‘tough out’ being sick: Parker or Elliot—but Elliot was definitely giving his wife a run for her money.

Apparently, Hardison did make an indignant noise that Elliot heard even over the phone, and that said enough. “Shut up, Hardison.” 

Hardison resumed picking the pills out and refilling a glass for Quita. “Whatever, she gets her hard headed streak from you.” 

The pills were set gently on a paper towel so he could lean against the counter, enjoying the familiar back and forth with Elliot that had started the day they met and never faded.

Speaking of which.

“She wanted to know how the three of us fell in love for her bedtime story.” Admittedly, Hardison was curious about Elliot’s reaction to this, since it seemed like his first instinct was to be defensive and private—even with their daughter at times. It was fading over time, but when it came to emotions and his past, that habit still reared its head. 

But instead of proverbially turtling up, Elliot just snorted. “Just leave out the kissy bits, don’t want her turning into a sap,” he said and there was the warmth and fondness in his voice that Hardison loved about him, and he was still more than a little mystified he was able to bring that to the surface.

“Pfft. She cries during _Lilo and Stitch_.” Hell, even Parker teared up a little during that movie, but that wasn’t the point.

Eliot laughed, that deep rumbly kind that sounded cliche coming from a real person, but somehow fit him. “Hey, she’ll be fine. You’re there.”

“Duh.” It was reassuring though, to hear someone have faith in Hardison, even though it shouldn’t be a surprise anymore.

“Be careful, Alec.”

“You too, Elliot.” 

Eliot didn’t need to say _Tell her I love her_ , or _I miss you_ , because they never missed a chance to tell Quita how precious she was to them. The _Missing you_ was said in how Elliot went out of his way to call him or text him whenever he got the chance—though he preferred calls.

Quita was still awake when Hardison got back into her room—not looking her best, but still trying to tough it out and not be a burden. They would never know if the reason she seemed to worry about this so much was just a part of her personality or the years she had spent bouncing around in foster care. Those memories were fading now, but things learned from that experience were another matter entirely.

“You haven’t finished your story,” she still sounded raspy, but her breathing sounded less like there was something caught in her chest than it did this morning before they went to the doctor’s, and Hardison felt some of the tension he had been carrying slip from his shoulders. 

Like most people, she hated taking medicine, pouting at him even as she sat up in bed to take the pills from his hands.

“You need to sleep more than you need a story,” he admonished, watching her toss both pills back with a grimace before handing her the glass of water.

While she drank her water, he began gathering the stuffed animals that had fallen to the floor the night before, to make sure there were no tripping hazards around her bed in case she had to get up in a hurry. Normally Quita was in charge of cleaning her own room and any shared messes in the family areas, but he was going easy on her today. Plus Hardison was a big softie and that wasn’t a secret.

The glass was empty once she finished her water, and she seemed relieved to be rid of the chalky taste in her mouth,. “But how will I sleep without a story?”

Hardison sighed at the puppy dog eyes, a trick he was pretty sure she had actually learned from him. “You’re gonna be a real butt about this, aren’t you?”

Quita grinned impishly, looking far too pleased with herself as she snuggled back into the pillows. “Oh, just the worst, you have no idea.”

With any luck though, she would fall asleep quick. It wasn’t that he didn’t enjoy reading to her or telling goodnight stories—and out of the three of them Hardison was hands down the best. Sophie was better than even him, but she was cheating just by existing. 

This time, it was that sleep was the best medicine, along with normal medicine of course, and he wanted her to get back to her usual lively self, get rid of the irrational worry that she wouldn’t get better.

So he flopped back into his chair. “So the first time Parker and Elliot officially met was actually at a sports bar six months later. At this point she had progressed to having lunch with me and I started bouncing project ideas off of her. Your mom is the best person I know at seeing the big picture and finding the one thing messing everything up in a plan.”

He paused at that to stop himself from rambling on about Parker, because he definitely could go all goo-goo eyes and sappy about both of them at the drop of a hat.

“Daaaaad.”

“Alright, alright, so I wasn’t actually 21 so I didn’t drink, but it was a college town so they still let underage people in as long as they were the DD.” Well, they weren’t quite that squeaky clean—he and Elliot—but Quita didn’t need to know that part. “It was the rival game, so there were a _lot_ of people there…”

—-

Hardison knew about sports. He knew the basic—and sometimes a little more—about all the mainstream games and how they worked. He enjoyed a good game because he himself was competitive, but he didn’t memorize stats or players, and didn’t set time aside to watch games.

So it shouldn’t cause any surprise that he sort of tuned out part way through the first half, instead focusing on the one TV not showing sports in the place just for something different. The three biggest banks in the city were robbed in one night, no suspects at this time, but even that got repetitive when they kept interviewing the same people or playing the same thirty second sound bite from local law enforcement over and over.

He was bored, but he liked hanging with Elliot. Even more when the guy had a good time and was happy instead of looking annoyed at whatever. The fact that they had only been friends for a short amount of time didn’t stop Hardison from compiling a short—but what he thought was a pretty damn impressive, considering—list of things that actually made Elliot relax and smile. For twenty-two, that guy sure seemed to be carrying a lot around.

So Hardison was bored.

When his eyes wandered around the bar and landed on someone else who looked as bored as him—a girl dressed to the nines with curls, heels and bright red lipstick that made her stick out in a place like this. Her efforts were clearly wasted, because the guy she stood behind at the bar hadn’t taken his eyes off the TV except to drink beer; whatever she _thought_ was happening tonight obviously wasn’t.

Hardison could somewhat relate. Even though Elliot and he weren’t on a date. In fact, Hardison was like 80% sure that Elliot was straight, which was definitely fine, because things were 100% platonic from Hardison’s side. He never got feelings for people who made pizza from scratch for him as a reward for acing his final, or rescued him from his own obliviousness or got cute little wrinkles when he was concentrating on something.

—-

“Daaad. Goo-goo voice!”

Hardson cleared his throat, “Sorry, hun.”

—

Honestly, Hardison wasn’t sure if it was the best luck in the world or the worst that made her notice him watching her, but she smiled in such a way it gave him a real ominous gut feeling.

Which he promptly ignored.

She stepped away from her ‘date’ without hesitation, all confidence and grace, grin changing to a smirk. Hardison fought the impulse to step closer to Elliot, who was perched at the bar, but didn’t. He also didn’t lean away when she leaned close to him, to speak _really close_ , to be heard over the game and yelling people, obviously. “Not your idea of a good time?”

But she didn’t give him space, and he felt more than a little like prey. “Naw I’m big into sports just uh, tired.” He was going for casual and confident, but came off defensive. Too many years of people’s opinions on his preference of a Star Trek marathon over sports games.

Maybe she sensed his discomfort, because she leaned away for a moment to eyeball him before smiling again, with a little less _predator_ this time. “Wanna go outside for a smoke? It’s quieter.”

“Sure,” he turned to tap Elliot’s shoulder and tell him that he would be back, but the girl already had his hand in hers, leading him towards the exit quicker than Hardison could react or think straight.

They were almost to the door when someone jerked him back roughly by the shoulder. “Hey, what the heck do you think you are doing with my girl?”

“You know I wasn’t doing anything just—”

“He was going to show me a good time! Unlike you!” She turned sharply to yell at the guy while still keeping Hardison between her and him

Hardison held up his hands defensively. “No, we weren’t going to do anything, I don’t wanna do whatever you’re thinking.”

That didn’t seem to help like Hardison had hoped.

“You sayin’ my girl is ugly? What’re you, a fan?”

——

“What? A fan?” 

Honestly, Hardison hoped she had fallen asleep when she closed her eyes and didn’t react like earlier. As usual, he wasn’t that lucky and his daughter was too sly. “Uh, yeah. He meant a fan of the other team. The rival one. Sports are serious.”

Quita seemed to know he was lying but didn’t know what the truth was, so she couldn’t call him out directly. “And he didn’t say heck did he?”

Hardison cleared his throat again, “So anyway, the guy shoves me and now the girl is yelling at me too, because alcohol makes you stupid. Write that down.” Quita rolled her eyes at him before closing them again. “And I put my dukes up, you know, old school pugilist, and I was about to sock him. I mean, I had watched a lot of kung fu and boxing movies, I was ready—”

“Dad says you’re more of a danger to yourself when you try and fight, than your opponent.”

Hardison bristled at the indignity of it all, but then she opened her eyes again and smiled. “He also says it’s weird the smartest guy he knows can’t throw a punch, and but it’s okay, because we should love someone’s whole self and not just the not-confusing parts.”

Oh. Hardison knew he was grinning like an idiot—hard not to with something like that—but something definitely seemed off about it. “Are you sure he said that?”

She grinned again and shrugged underneath the blanket. “Something along those lines. So, you were saying you were about to get punched?”

He grabbed the little pillow they kept on top of the recliner so he could toss it at her. “You’re lucky I love you.”

She giggled and stuck her tongue out before making a vague _Go on_ gesture that she had learned from Nate. 

“So, like I was saying. I was ready to throw down with this guy and he throws a punch—it was like slow motion! In real life! I was gonna dodge like Spiderman but—”

“Dad rescued you!” Quita sounded way too excited for someone who was supposed to be going to sleep, honestly.

Hardison shook his head. “Nope! I mean, yeah, but better!” Normally he would be offended that it was that obvious where this story was going, but Elliot’s Rescuing Face (patent pending) was totally worth the sting to his pride.

“So Parker, erm, your mom—”

“Did you already know Alice was only an alias at this point?” She sounded far too much like a reporter who tasted first blood on a story.

Hardison sighed, eyeballing his daughter with a chastising look. “You know, you are really killing my storyteller mojo over here with your interruptions.” There was a sincere offended tone with his statement, or at least genuine frustration at the fact this wasn’t putting her to sleep like Rapunzel did, or even certain Star Trek themed stories.

Oh, and the interruptions of course. No one appreciated him, nothing new there.

But she just watched him expectantly and he sighed. “Yeah, I was suspecting the amount of secrets she had, but she hadn’t come clean yet. Can I continue now, princess?” In their house _goblin_ was a term of affection, while _princess_ was one of chastisement. It worked somehow.

The little brat had the nerve to giggle while pulling the comforter up to her eyes in response.

“So like I was saying, the punch was flying at my face and Parker—”

—-

“Move!” A familiar blonde head—but not as familiar as a sharp and angry voice—was suddenly very close, as Hardison got shoved to the side and away from his would-be assailant. 

Hardison turned his head just in time to see Elliot pop up in what had to be a planned move right where Hardison had been standing. Eliot used the guy’s momentum against him, grabbing his arm in a smooth, practiced motion, and tugging him off balance so he nearly fell. Elliot’s arm seemed to ripple as he socked the man hard in the solar plexus, twisting his arm painfully. Hardison heard the guy cry out in pain, even as the idiot struggled to breathe.

The man crumpled to his knees, heaving whatever greasy bar food he had consumed that night onto the floor. Around them, the bubble of silence that had formed without Hardison even noticing changed to disgusted noises.

Elliot glanced at the two of them and shrugged, as if to say _My bad_ , while also not looking particularly guilty. 

“I like your friend, we can keep him,” Alice told Hardison with a mischievous grin and a wink, leaning close to be heard over the noise. Elliot’s expression as he watched them changed, but it was hard to read even though it was vaguely familiar. As if Hardison had seen it fleetingly in odd moments out of the corner of his eyes.

In a haze of deja vu and vague, Hardison was pulled across the bar with a beautiful woman’s hand in his, this time with relief and giddiness in his eyes instead of apprehension.

Parker let go of his hand as soon as they were out in the cool night air, and he missed it immediately. His puppy-love crush on her hadn’t faded like he had expected it to. Instead, it had settled in him, becoming more solid and almost comforting—like a familiar winter coat. 

Like Elliot’s hand when he pulled Hardison from the library late at night stumbling from exhaustion, or the genuine surprised smile Hardison brought on him on the days Eliot was snappy from a ‘bad night’.

(Elliot’s never brought it up, but Hardison knew the other had nightmares—terrors or something. Not every night, but some of them. Eliot was extra snappish and on guard the day after, and always looked surprised when Hardison stayed around on those days.)

Hardison wasn’t the best liar, a fact that surprised exactly no one. In fact, Elliot and Alice had both pointed it out within two weeks after having an actual conversation with him, and so maybe the naked adoration showed on his face.

It was kind of stupid because Hardison had only known them for three months, and this was the first time he had seen Alice out of the coffee shop—though she had started sitting with him after her shift for a few hours, talking about this and that—but it was hard to resist.

Elliot’s expression didn’t take long to turn exasperated though. “I leave you alone for five minutes and you nearly get hit. Dammit, Hardison!”

Hardison held up his hands defensively. “Hey, no way are you blaming this on me. She started it!”

Alice snorted and smiled at him fondly, but Elliot rolled his eyes. “What are you, twelve?” 

Eliot took a few steps closer so his hand could reach out quick as lightning to smack Hardison on the back of his head. The proximity and tap from the arm that had done such damage earlier, should probably have made Hardison nervous, but he still felt just as safe as before. It was reckless maybe, because Hardison hadn’t really realized what Elliot was capable of under a bit of hesitation or strain, but instead Hardison was just grateful and intrigued.

“Hey, man!” He gestured between his two friends. “But look! You guys are finally meeting! Wait, did you guys plan my rescue or was it just good luck?”

Alice shrugged and glanced at Elliot before answering, “I recognized him because you talk about him so much—”

“And I recognized her because you go on about her so much.” 

Was this karma for something? Cutting his foster sister’s hair maybe? Insulting Nana’s pancakes?

But Parker was grinning at him and that sort of made it worth it. “But then I saw what was about to go down and we made a rough plan.” 

Hardison was beaming at them. Not only did two of his favorite people finally meet, but they seemed to get along! 

All in all, it was turning out to be a _fantastic_ night, even with the previous possibility of bodily injury. Hardison slung an arm around the back of Eliot’s neck and held an arm out for Alice, who seemed to go back and forth on physical contact. “I think we deserve ihop!”

Alice took his arm but Elliot shoved him off, though he still stayed close enough to brush against Hardison’s skin as they walked towards the parking lot. That was alright, the gruffness was worth him sticking around. 

“I deserve to watch the game I’m missing right now thanks to you,” Eliot grumbled.

“Let’s go to Perry’s instead. They have the one TV we can sit by. Less smelly drunks.” Perry’s was a non-chain hole in the wall dinner out of the way from campus, less specials and bottomless pancakes, but more food not from a mix.

Alice was watching them both curiously, even as she sort of _bounced_ with each step. “I love their hot cocoa!” 

On his other side, Elliot rolled his eyes, something he seemed to do a lot around Hardison. That and grumbling, growling, and rubbing his face in frustration. “I don’t think you need any more sugar.”

Hardison bumped him with his shoulder, relishing the fact that while Elliot glared, he didn’t step away from him or ask him to give him space.

”Hey Hardison, didja mean it when you said you could help me get accepted even though I didn’t graduate high school?” Parker asked.

Hardison opened his mouth to reassure her, excitement already bubbling up at her acceptance of his offer to help, the trust it conveyed and the fact that it meant Parker was planning on staying around longer. They could study together, and Parker and Elliot could be friends. 

But Elliot beat him to it. “If Hardison said he could do it, then he can.” 

Oh. Hardison cast a glance over at him, but instead of seeing one of Elliot’s sarcastic expressions, he saw only resolute sincerity in his eyes.

 _Oh_.

There was a sudden pressure in his throat Hardison didn’t want to think about too much, a heaviness in his chest as he stared ahead resolutely. _70%_ , he reminded himself. On either side of him, Alice and Elliot seemed to be casting glances at each other he couldn’t decipher. They were nearly at Elliot’s truck by the time Hardison cleared his throat, “Of course, we’ll have you ready to start in the fall.”

Alice beamed at him, and it brought a bubble of warmth in his gut Hardison couldn’t repress.

 

—

Hardison jumped when someone put their hand on his shoulder. His eyes snapped open to his wife leaning over his chair with a fond smile and her finger to her lips. Across from him, Quita snoozed away finally, and it appeared he had joined her at some point—several hours, if the presence of Parker and the crick in his neck was any indication.

He returned her smile as he got up, stretching out his limbs and hearing the familiar sound of joints popping, to follow her quietly out of the now dark room. They crept down the hall towards the light of the living room, Parker’s steps somehow as completely silent as ever. Hardison was still rubbing the residual sleepiness out of his eyes and rolling his neck as they emerged into the family room, where Elliot was catching up on the football game of that day.

There was a beer on the table, an orange soda and a glass of chocolate milk. That, combined with Elliot relaxing against the couch looking tired but happy, was the best sort of invitation if Hardison had ever seen one. Parker seemed to be on the same track, though while Hardison made his way around the couch lazily, letting his fingertips glide along whatever bit of Elliot’s skin he could reach, Parker just launched herself over the back of it.

Beside him, Elliot rolled his eyes. “How’s Quita doing?”

There were days that Parker was still reticent when it came to touching. This was one of them, apparently. Though she was just a few inches away, she leaned against the arm of the couch instead of leaning on her boys, but it didn’t seem to bother her that Hardison was leaning on Elliot when she wasn’t up for it.

Just like he always did on days like this, Hardison left his open palm on the couch between them, unobtrusive but consistent for when she was ready. It was her who answered their husband’s question, “Her breathing is better and her fever is gone. I think we should keep her home one more day, though.”

Elliot nodded, and Hardison felt a little more tension drain out of him as an arm settled over Hardison’s shoulders. “Parker came home with more Christmas decorations.” 

Hardison groaned, though Parker didn’t even look embarrassed in the least. “It’s November! You’re lucky I haven’t started scouting for a tree yet.”

Since they brought Quita home, this habit of Parker’s had gotten a little better. Instead of going overboard on decorating the house, she went _slightly_ overboard, and spoiled their kid rotten. The latter wasn’t something anyone really objected to with any real enthusiasm. They knew she was giving Quita the childhood she never had. Hardison understood that better than most.

With Parker also came issues about showing affection, physically and with words. Some days being better than others, and some emotions coming easier. She made up for this with showing their daughter with gifts, afraid the kid would think her mom loved her less because the ways people expected love to be shown didn’t come naturally to her.

There was nothing to show that Quita doubted her mother’s love though, and no one could miss the adoration in her eyes when she looked at Parker.

Parker reached out to poke Hardison, right as he took a drink of his soda. “Elliot said you’ve been telling her sappy stories.”

Hardison glared at her half heartedly as he set the bottle back on the table. “They weren’t sappy.” But then he paused with a grin. “Well, they were made more sappy by me having to censor myself.”

Elliot snorted, eyes focused on the TV, fingers still absentmindedly drawing designs on Hardison’s shoulder as he leaned against him again. They lulled Hardison into a state of complacency, letting him think they were done giving him shit as they all wound down before springing a trap on him.

(It was, altogether possible, that storytelling made Hardison more dramatic.)

“Did you find a way to make yourself seem less oblivious?” The verbal jab came with an actual jab of Parker’s heel against his thigh, and like a domino effect it made Hardison whine and Elliot grumble at being jostled. Parker still wasn’t the best at playing gentle, but as long as she was careful with Quita, no one was really worried about it.

Hardison crossed his arms, trying on his best stubborn expression. “Excuse you!” He mustered up his dignity as he sat up and away from Elliot, shoulders straight and proper with his chin level instead of pouting. “I was not oblivious!”

Parker was still giving him her shit eating grin and Elliot wasn’t coming to his defense, so Hardison grabbed the remote to turn up the song, just enough to make a point and steadfastly ignored _both_ of his spouses when they burst out laughing.  
[](https://www.flickr.com/photos/157843907@N08/37887639215/in/dateposted-public/)  
—-

There were _rumors_ , okay. Hardison was a social kind of guy, and he was on good terms, 2AM study session tier with a few people in every class. Even his rivals. So when he started hanging around Elliot all the time—who was not an introvert, but didn’t make friends with everyone nearby, except at bars with out-of-town women he wasn’t going to see again—people associated them together, right?

A normal thing.

Then Alice got enrolled. Privately, Elliot and Hardison called her Parker, because that was the name she preferred. Her criminal name. But it was hard for Hardison to criticize the latter part when it was paying for her tuition and helped her stay around.

(She also wouldn’t be enrolled had he not forged one or five things to get her there. But she deserved it.)

Then people noticed him hanging around her a lot, and how _sometimes_ she was real touchy with Hardison—but also with Elliot, even when Hardison wasn’t around.

When Alice or Elliot called or texted, Hardison answered even when _Star Trek_ was playing, and got this dopey look on his face. Even before she started attending classes, he talked about her _incessantly_. Coffee shop girl was both the most entertaining and annoying topic to get Hardison on, and that said something.

So people made assumptions, and people talked, because gossip is a good distraction from exams and the fears of failing your family. The three of them moved in together at the beginning of Hardison and Elliot’s senior year, finding a rental house sufficiently out of the way that game day traffic didn’t try and park in their yard.

Elliot and Parker weren’t big on people invading their space, but they also didn’t want to stop Hardison—who grew up in Nana’s often crowded and chaotic house—from being social. From hosting Sci-fi premiere parties (including a new Doctor) or even just a normal study/pizza party, it only rarely bothered Hardison to have people around.

So people saw Elliot and Parker often disappear together. Sometimes into each other’s rooms, or out the door for hours. 

Some people thought they were cute.

Some people thought Elliot was dating Hardison and cheating with Alice.

Others thought Alice was dating Hardison and cheating with Elliot. No one ever suspected Hardison of being involved with infidelity. These same people also tended to be the type who thought a man and a woman couldn’t be friends without developing feelings of some sort for each other, so it really wasn’t their fault.

Gossip and talk—n and of itself—it’s normally harmless, until someone takes it a little too far and potentially makes a friendship awkward. The delivery of this came in the form of Peggy, Hardison’s well meaning and startlingly normal Philosophy tutor. Valentine's day was coming up and he was trying to subtly get some suggestions from her, even though subtlety wasn’t exactly his strong suit.

Sure enough, Peggy closed her book about half an hour after Hardison had started asking questions while dodging hers about who the gifts were for. “Alec. Be serious with me for a minute.”

He squawked indignantly, “I was being serious!”

Peggy sighed and reached across to take one of Hardison’s hands in both of hers, comfortingly, as if she was about to tell him a bad medical prognosis. Hardison thought it was a little weird, but she had soft hands, so he humored her. 

“I know you want to get a gift for Elliot or Alice, I don’t really know which one, and it isn’t my business—” The last part was rushed before he could respond, wide-eyed and looking flabbergasted. “But I think there is something going on between them. I just worry about you getting hurt.” She smiled at him comfortingly and squeezed his hand, staying there as if expecting him to react poorly.

These two tidbits sent him to a tailspin though, brain short-circuiting and mouth freezing uncharacteristically. He wasn’t sure what caught him more off guard, the implication that he could be getting a Valentine's day gift for Elliot, or something going on between Elliot and Parker.

So the only thing he could finally say was, “Elliot is straight. I’m definitely 48% sure.”

Peggy snorted and withdrew her hands to open her book back up. “Whatever you say.”

Hardison had already gone back to reading, determined to ignore his friend’s ridiculousness, when she spoke again, “Just let me know if you need to talk okay?”

“Pfft, I got this, girl. Don’t worry,” he said, ignoring her eyeroll steadfastly as he tried to focus back on Plato.

Much to Hardison’s chagrin though, her words lingered in his mind, eating at him. If people thought there was a possibility of him asking Elliot on a date, did that mean he returned Hardison’s feelings? The ones Hardison definitely didn’t have, and had been trying to ignore because Elliot was _straight_ , and Hardison was enamored with Parker—who had said in her own way she felt the same for Hardison.

But what about the other part, about there being a _thing_ between Elliot and Parker?

Could Hardison be that oblivious, that dumb and naive? God, he was going to feel so stupid if the woman he _definitely_ was falling in love with, and the man he had been trying _not_ to fall in love with, got together right under his nose. 

He would be happy for them, of course. It would just devastate him in the process.

So he did the only reasonable thing and let it eat at him for three weeks. Now he worried that his feelings for Elliot were too obvious, along with trying to play detective without being invasive and creepy regarding Elliot and Parker’s friendship.

Valentine's day came with all the promised fanfare around campus, caused by having a large group of people who didn’t have full time jobs and a lot of theater majors. Hardison, however, stayed in bed.

It wasn’t that he was sulking, or anything. He was just at a loss. In a state of confusion and panic, he had bought gifts from both of them, even though he had no idea what his own end game was. Making one of them choose one of the others was an asshole move, not to mention he was still 40% sure that Elliot was straight.

That was a big margin of error, is the thing.

He wouldn’t said it sent him into _depression_ , per se, having several important things about his world suddenly being not so sure, but it did send Hardison into a funk at the very least. A funk full of self-doubt.

The knock on the door made him jump where he laid in a blanket cocoon staring at the wall, since he woke up at the ungodly hour of 7AM, roughly two hours ago. What startled him more was that the door opened before he could even respond, with Parker slinking in and Elliot stalking in behind her.

They both wore expressions of nervousness, though Elliot hid it better. 

“Elliot made a big Valentine’s Day Breakfast for us. Are you gonna come out?” 

The thought of Elliot cooking a big meal would normally make Hardison launch himself from bed like an old school cartoon character smelling pie, but not this time.

Peggy was right. There was something between Elliot and Parker. And their way of breaking it to him was over breakfast—Parker’s romantic breakfast.

“You guys don’t gotta sugar coat it for me, Peggy told me.” 

Neither of them responded for a minute, and though Hardison kept his eyes on the wall, he could see their silent conversation in facial expressions inside his head. It was almost creepy how well he knew them. And yet, he hadn’t seen this coming.

The bed dipped when one of them sat behind him on the side of the bed, with the other at the foot.

“What did Peggy tell you, _exactly?_?” Elliot asked, his voice belying tension, even though on the surface he was trying to sound patient. And the fact that he was _trying_ was—It was a lot. It was a lot for someone who was about to have to watch the two people he had serious feelings for—one Hardison had come to terms with and one he had not—be together openly.

“Damnit, Hardison. Talk to us,” Eliot growled, scooting closer to him on the bed with what was probably an angry look on his face, and Hardison…

Hardison _cracked_ at that moment, yanked his blankets off so he could gesture wildly as he spoke, “She told me that there was something between you two!” They were so calm and still, that it almost made it worse.

He cleared his throat against the sudden pressure there and the weight in his chest. “That’s okay, really, I want you guys to be happy.” Hardison couldn’t maintain eye contact with either of them, couldn’t decipher the hurt and surprise there, couldn’t watch their reaction as he laid _everything_ out.

So he stared at his quilt, fingers tracing the designs there with the barest hint of a tremble. “Your happiness is important to me. You are important.” He cleared his throat again, opened his mouth and seemed to hesitate, words stuck there before he snapped it shut.

The tension in the air made it hard to breathe. So thick and cloying Hardison thought he could suffocate in it, drowning in emotions and wants unsaid.

But a hand grasped his, cold and a little calloused, with unmistakeable strength behind it, and Hardison knew he should stop himself but couldn’t. So he wound Parker’s familiar fingers with his own, even though it wasn’t helping his hammering heart a bit.

Elliot’s hand was on his chin—warmer and rougher by far, but a comfort—tilting his head up to meet his eyes. “There _is_ something between us.” He stopped Hardison from yanking his chin away from the vulnerability in his friend’s eyes. “But we thought there was something between _us_ too. Were we wrong?”

His voice was so calm compared to Hardison’s own passionate louder-than-planned words earlier, that he felt his breathing and heart rate mellow out. Parker squeezed his hand again. 

“You're ours, right? Like we're yours?” She sounded confident and calm like Elliot, but there was the barest hint of a tremble that told him she was as eaten up about this as he was. 

When Hardison answered, he tried to give her an encouraging smile, but his voice was raspy. It sounded like he had been letting out those tears he had tried to hold back. “Of course. Always have been.”

Elliot grinned at him, open and genuine and with such naked joy, Hardison possibly stopped breathing for a beat before Elliot leaned forward and planted a too-quick kiss on his lips. When he moved away to get off the bed, Hardison reached out for him before he could stop himself, but then Parker was there to plant another fleeting kiss at the corner of his mouth. 

“C’mon, French toast time!”

She jumped off the bed while Hardison gaped at her. “How can you two just go eat breakfast like we didn't just have a damn revelation in here?”

Elliot looked back at him while shaking his head. “It wasn't a revelation for us, Alec. Let's go before the food gets cold.”

Oh. Right. They knew all along. 

He launched himself after them, barely remembering to get untangled from the sheets, mind already set on syrup flavored kisses.

**Author's Note:**

> I am [ bagofgroceries](bagofgroceries.tumblr.com)  
> on tumblr. Feel free to say hi or flail at me about your favorite tropes in media/fic/literature etc. I'm here all night~! *bows* no really. all night. I'm so tired.


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